


melt my heart

by someitems



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: 2018 Winter Olympics, Alternate Universe - Olympics, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-05 03:32:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15855369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someitems/pseuds/someitems
Summary: “Sure.” Kyle tries to say it casually, but it comes out kind of squeaky. How is it possible that he’s been in Korea for literally 24 hours and he’s already developed a crush?Winter Olympics AU. When US Curling Team member Kyle Hendricks gets dragged to watch figure skating by his teammate Anthony Rizzo, little does he expect to be captivated by what he sees...





	melt my heart

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [snarky_saxophonist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarky_saxophonist/pseuds/snarky_saxophonist) in the [boysofsummer18](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/boysofsummer18) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Winter Olympics AU. Whatever sports you want, with Kyle and Willy on different Olympic teams and getting together over the course of the Olympics.
> 
> I've been buried in figure skating lately, but I still love my beautiful sons the Chicago Cubs, and this was the perfect prompt to combine both interests. Hope you enjoy!

The U.S. men’s curling team arrives in Pyeongchang five days before they compete, to shake off the jet lag. Kyle flings his duffel bag onto the little dorm bed that’ll be his home for the next couple weeks. Across the room, near the other bed, Rizz has already unpacked his stuff—if “unpacked” is the right word for dumping a bunch of shirts and sweatpants into a drawer and then leaving the rest of the bag strewn across the comforter. He’s texting now, as Kyle carefully arranges his essentials and hangs up the shirts that might get wrinkled. Probably with someone here—Rizz seems to know half the people on the U.S. Olympic team. This is Kyle’s first Olympics, but even if it weren’t, he still wouldn’t know anywhere near as many people as Rizz does. 

Rizz looks up from his phone finally. “Yo, Kyle. How do you feel about figure skating?”

“Figure skating? I don’t know, I don’t think about it that much.” Kyle’s seen some before, of course—his little sister was obsessed for a couple years—but he doesn’t know enough about it to just state an opinion. He’d need to do more research.

“Well, you’re going to love it,” Rizz declares confidently. “Because we’re going tomorrow.”

“Wait, what? Why?”

Rizz puts down his phone, like it’s serious. “Ok, so you know how I used to go to that strength training camp?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “I met this guy there who’s a figure skater, he was super cool, I got to know him pretty well a few summers ago.”

“Was this before or after Kris?” Kyle can’t help but tease, Rizz sounds so enthusiastic.

“Not like _that,_ dude, come on. You know Kris and I are forever love. This was strictly a friends situation. Plus this guy’s just super inspirational, like, as a person.” 

“What do you mean?” Kyle suppresses the urge to eyeroll. Rizz finds so many things inspirational, from his mom’s hand-crotched USA CURLING hats to viral Instagram videos about dogs reuniting with their owners.

“So this dude is Venezuelan—his parents were born there—and he was competing for US figure skating for a while, but then all that shit started going down in Venezuela. So he decided to compete for Venezuela to, like, raise awareness about what they’re going through. He made his own team jacket, everything. If he gets prize money he donates it all.”

“Holy shit. That’s amazing.” 

“Yeah, so he’s a great dude, and I think he’s a good skater—I mean I don’t know shit about skating, he told me he doesn’t have that good a chance at the podium, but I still think he’s good—and he’s skating tomorrow, and we’re gonna go support him.”

There’s that _we_ again. “Do I really have to go?” Kyle sees Rizz’s face and backpedals. “I mean, he sounds great, it’s just. I need to get a routine down before we compete.” He needs time alone to focus, to get into that frame of mind where he can throw a stone like an arrow, sharp and precise.

“It’s just one day. And it’s in the morning, because of fucking NBC or whatever. So you’ll have plenty of time for your routine later. Plus the rest of the team is going.”

Kyle sighs. This is what makes Rizz such a great skip, and also such a frustrating friend. When he gets an idea in his head, he’s got the power to make everyone else follow his lead. “All right.”

“Bring your jacket, he told me it’s going to be cold,” Rizz says, turning back to his phone. 

“Yeah,” Kyle says vaguely. A day spent away from his preparation methods, sitting in a freezing cold rink. Just perfect.

The next afternoon, Kyle finds himself wedged into a folding seat at the upper level of the Gangneung Ice Arena, with Rizz on one side and Addy on the other. It’s as cold as he thought it would be—he’s glad he brought his jacket—but he’s having a surprisingly good time. The jumps are cool, especially the really big ones, and it’s not exactly like he remembered it from when his sister used to watch, when it seemed like nothing but tinkly classical music and positions that all looked the same. A lot of guys are really doing their own thing, and some of the music even sounds like stuff he’d listen to on his own. The crowd is amazing, too—it’s packed, and yelling like a football game anytime someone does something especially cool. Right in front of them is a row of women his mom’s age with the loudest wolf whistles he’s ever heard. “We should get them to come watch us,” Rizz keeps saying.

Three groups of skaters have finished, and Kyle is checking his phone during a warmup break, when Rizz jabs an elbow into his ribs. 

“Dude, it’s almost time,” Rizz says.

“Huh?” Kyle says, just as the announcer’s voice rings out. _Next to skate, representing Venezuela, Willson Contreras!_

Rizz howls, Addy whistles, and Kyle lets out a couple loud cheers of his own. Rizz’s friend—Willson—skates to the center of the rink, fidgeting as the cheers die down. He’s wearing a bright red and yellow ruffled shirt, with sparkles that catch the light, and tight black pants. He arranges himself with one arm raised in the air, head tilted towards the ice. The music starts, and he snaps both his fingers.

It’s amazing music, bright and rhythmic with a singer and a speeding guitar. Venezuelan, probably. Kyle’s foot starts tapping unintentionally. Willson’s really into it too, his face intense and joyful as he moves up and down the ice. He’s a small guy, but he’s got legs that look like tree trunks, and he skates fiercely and powerfully. Kyle finds himself leaning forward, clasping his hands as Willson does two jumps one right after the other. It’s captivating. It’s fun. It’s—hot. Kyle’s face flames as Willson bends over in a spin, sticking his ass in the air. If he’d been Rizz, that time at the camp wouldn’t have been strictly a friends situation.

Willson finishes with one knee down on the ice, holding both arms up with a flourish. The crowd applauds wildly. Kyle finds himself wishing he had one of those stuffed animals to throw, like the ladies in front of him. He settles for clapping until his hands hurt.

It’s kind of embarrassing to come back to himself after being so wrapped up in the program. He doesn’t usually get this carried away when he watches stuff—he’s not the type to get invested in movies or concerts. But something about Willson has him feeling like he’s just woken up from a dream. On the ice below them, some other dude in a plain blue sweater is warming up. Kyle sighs. He watches the rest of the programs in a haze. Some of them are good, but none of them capture his attention the way Willson did. 

At the end of the event, Willson’s in fifth. Apparently there’s one more event tomorrow afternoon where they skate different programs, to decide the podium, so Willson could finish further up or further down. But fifth seems pretty good to Kyle. 

Rizz stretches his arms above his head. “Did you like it?”

“Sure, it was fine,” Kyle says. 

“Don’t lie, you totally loved it,” Rizz says. “Do you want to come say hi?”

Kyle’s brain short-circuits. He thinks about being face to face with those intense eyes, the bright smile. “What?”

Rizz laughs. “I’m going to go hang with him for a little bit after he’s done with media and stuff. He said he’d meet me in the US team lounge. You can come if you want.”

“Sure.” Kyle tries to say it casually, but it comes out kind of squeaky. How is it possible that he’s been in Korea for literally 24 hours and he’s already developed a crush?

Kyle and Rizz make their way to the lounge and sprawl out on the couches, fucking around on their phones while they wait. People come in and out, but Kyle doesn’t recognize any of them, just glances up and then back at his phone. 

Finally he hears a voice. “Hey, Rizzo!” He looks up to see Rizz already embracing Willson, whacking him on the back vigorously.

“What’s up, bro,” Rizz says. “You were amazing today, I loved it.” He breaks the hug and jerks his head backwards towards Kyle. “Even Mr. Serious over here loved it.”

“That’s awesome!” Willson sounds genuinely enthusiastic. “Hey, nice to meet you, by the way. I’m Willson.”

Kyle holds out his hand. Willson’s grip is firm and warm. “Hey, I'm Kyle.”

They get sodas out of the vending machine and end up back on the couches. Kyle isn’t expecting to really be part of the conversation—he doesn’t know Willson, after all, and Rizz tends to dominate any social space, like an enthusiastic puppy. 

But Willson starts telling them a story about his trip over here, how he almost got stuck in the airport and someone mistook him for a high school student, and then Rizz and Kyle are both trying to tell the story of their endless flight delay at once. They talk over each other, laughing and repeating themselves, and it’s like they’ve all been friends for years.

Willson asks them what they thought of his performance, and Kyle finds himself trying to explain what captured his attention, the way the music and movements worked together. Willson grins, big and shiny. 

“So you really liked it, huh?”

“Yeah,” Kyle says earnestly. “I thought you were awesome. And the stuff you’re doing for Venezuela, that’s amazing, man.”

“Rizzo was right,” Willson says. “You’re super nice.”

“Wait, Rizz talked to you about me?”

“Yeah, he told me I really needed to meet his one friend from his team because you were really nice and he thought we would be really good together—“ Willson claps his hand over his mouth. “Shit.”

Kyle turns to Rizz. “You were trying to set me up?”

“Are you mad?” Rizz says. “I thought you guys would really like each other. You’re both great, and you’re both single, so…”

Kyle can feel himself blush. Before the skate, he probably would have waved this off, said he wasn’t looking for anything. But now—

“No, I think it’s a great idea,” Kyle says, and is rewarded with an even bigger smile from Willson. “You wanna go on a date after we’re done competing?” He looks right into Willson’s eyes. They’re deep brown and gentle and Kyle can feel his stomach flip, butterflies starting. 

“Totally,” Willson says.

One week later, Kyle has a bronze medal and Willson has the first top-ten finish for a South American country in men’s figure skating. But more importantly, they both have a huge pile of chicken nuggets and fries they’re chowing on, and a lot of flirty glances exchanged, and a conversation that keeps making Kyle laugh and Willson smile that amazing smile. And Kyle may be an Olympic newbie, but he’s pretty sure of one thing: right now, he’s winning.

**Author's Note:**

> Willson is skating to "Alma Llanera," a famous Venezuelan song that's sometimes described as their second national anthem. (when will MLB let Willson wear his Venezuela sleeve again, he deserves)
> 
> you can find me at someitems.tumblr.com, where there is a whole bunch of figure skating but sometimes baseball too and my inbox is always open to talk about sports boys who love other sports boys


End file.
